


Harry Potter and the Fuck Boy Dark Lord

by TheLastNero



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Era, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dick Jokes, Dumbledore is a misinformed matchmaker, Epistolary, F/M, Fuck Boy Voldemort, Harry is a naive romantic, Humor, M/M, Multi, Not kidding, Rape By Deception, Rape/Non-con Elements, This is going to get pretty dark later on, This will get pretty fucked up, innuendos, thirst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastNero/pseuds/TheLastNero
Summary: Upon discovering his archenemy is actually a horcrux in the graveyard following his resurrection, Voldemort decides to create a different plan for his domination of Wizarding Britain. What he did not account for was his horcrux being so... desirable, nor how difficult it would be to finally get a piece of that ass.





	Harry Potter and the Fuck Boy Dark Lord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosa2377](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa2377/gifts).



_ “I… can touch you now—” _

That long, bony finger pressed deep into Harry’s scar, forcing pain down his face. His scar throbbed in agony and he couldn't hold in his screams.

Voldemort grinned terribly, his red eyes flicking across Harry’s pained state. Slowly, his grin fell and his eyes which had burned bright seconds ago dulled.

He retracted his arm and stared down at Harry. The stone of the statue felt more suffocating than before as Harry was held fast against the gravestone. The Death Eaters stood behind Voldemort, none daring to move past him. 

Harry tried to look away, to avert his gaze, but the mad man leaning over him would not have it. His nails scraped against the bottom of Harry’s chin, forcing him to look up at the man in front of him. He glared in futility.

Voldemort slowly grinned once more. 

The white skin of his face stretched unnaturally thin, and Harry thought that if he reached out and touched Voldemort, he would be able to feel the outlines of the bones in his cheek.

Voldemort raised the arm of the statue with a wave of his hand, a flourish of his black robes. Harry fell off Tom Riddle Senior’s grave onto the hard ground. He laid at Voldemort’s feet and brushed against the bottom of his robes.

When he brought his eyes up to look at Voldemort, he found him staring down at him. He gulped as Voldemort drew his wand. 

_ He was going to die _ . Just like Cedric, just his mother, just like his father—

Something whooshed through the air and Harry braced himself for  _ something— _ impact, pain, death, what, he did not know. Cold metal hit his back where his shirt had been torn and his wound stung as the object glanced against his flesh. He didn't have time to contemplate the sensation as he felt a pull in his navel and the world spun on its axis around him.

* * *

_ A horcrux.  _ How that had happened, the Dark Lord could not begin to fathom. 

While his initial plan had been to kill that wretched boy to prove his superiority, an action to symbolize his rebirth, his conquest over the mere luck that had inconvenienced him prior, he now had a new plan. Only a genius such as him could possibly create such a plan in the heat of a moment such as in the graveyard that his own father had been buried in. 

His plan was as simple as it was brilliant; he would protect his horcrux in the same way he had the other containers of his soul.

It would not do to kidnap the boy in the graveyard. He had not planned for Harry to bring that Hufflepuff with him. Two disappearances would be too suspicious and he would not have the Ministry alerted to his presence so soon. No one would believe the boy anyways, with his reputation as sullied throughout the year as it was. 

He would bide his time, make sure no harm came to his horcrux, and steal him away at the most opportune moment. For now, the next step was to gather his Death Eaters and retrieve the true prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, once and for all. 

That, of course, he would entrust with his followers. Now, he would focus on what he could not entrust with them— the protection and watching over of his most unpredictable horcrux yet.

What he saw in the following months was rage-inducing to say the very least. 

_ Filthy _ muggles,  _ filthy _ muggle-loving Order members. And that wasn’t to mention the dreadful state of the Ministry and even his beloved Hogwarts. Of course, that would be remedied in the coming years.

And then he could finally retrieve his horcrux.

Why the boy had to engage in so many dangerous activities, he would never know. Perhaps it was simply a… dare he say it? A  _ Gryffindor _ trait?

The words felt rotten on his tongue. To think one of his horcruxes would end up in the house of self-endangerment and self-righteousness.

He should be focusing on his studies, not that Cho girl, not  _ Quidditch.  _ Yet here the boy was practicing day after day for his first match against the Slytherins. Multiple times per week, Voldemort was subjected to watching through the boy’s eyes as he tumbled through the air on his broom, his toned body leaning over to catch the snitch, sweat running down forehead, into his hair, his thighs clenching around the wooden shaft between his legs—

It was torture, heralding a feeling that the Dark Lord had previously known not: complete and utter thirst.

When  _ he _ was a teenager,  _ he  _ didn’t think it necessary to fondle himself every other time he bathed. With how attractive the boy was, Voldemort reasoned that he could have certainly obtained a reasonably attractive partner in turn. But no. Harry had to take his cock into his own hand, night after night in full view for him to see as he entered Harry’s mind, and he felt every second of it. And it  _ was _ an absolutely delectable cock.

His Death Eaters had seemed to notice he was on edge, but they would just have to deal with it. As soon as they got the prophecy, they would have no need for secrecy anymore and he could finally snatch up his horcrux, his aggravatingly sensual, delicious horcrux that was his and only his--

He had decided to check in on his horcrux once more when he caught the boy looking at that Cho Chang girl again. It was sickening, the way they batted their eyes at each other. Harry could do so much better, he thought. Not pick up a girl who cried every time she thought about her dead boyfriend. 

Although, Harry himself was proving as much an impediment to their relationship as Cho was. The Boy Who Lived, passive around girls. It was adorable and made Voldemort want to taint every last bit of that innocence. 

His patience was wearing thin. It was time for more drastic measures. His thirst would be quenched.

* * *

_ Hello Harry, _

_ I couldn't help but notice what a fit young man you are. Your avada kedavra green eyes are to die for. It makes me want to just bend you over, fuck you over the Quidditch bleachers after you’ve gotten all sweaty after a game, and make those gorgeous eyes cry with how badly I will ruin you. I can assure you, I’d be the best fuck of your life. From what I have been told, I am an excellent bed-mate, and I have a very large penis. I have attached photographic proof of this fact. I hope you enjoy it. I know I enjoyed making it. _

_ Yours, _

_ CC _

Albus Dumbledore had difficulty comprehending the letter he had just had the misfortune of reading.

Never, in all his years of reading through Harry Potter’s mail in order to protect the boy, had he ever received solicitations of the…  sexual variety. He shook his head. He supposed the boy was at that age. Although that handwriting did seem awfully familiar. Who was this CC? 

He checked the envelope once more and a photo fell out. 

A moving photo. 

A very  _ graphic _ moving photo. 

A deathly pale hand gripped a hard shaft, pumping it almost violently as it gushed out cum. The image repeated, again and again in a never ending loop.

Dumbledore grimaced and slid the picture back into the envelope.

He looked back at the letter, analyzing every loop, every cross of the T’s… he thought back to all the papers he had read over the years, forms signed, assignments graded. The handwriting was quite beautiful, despite its vulgar words. 

Tom Riddle, he realised with shock. Lord Voldemort was the one propositioning Harry Potter of all people, quite aggressively so.

When Harry had returned from the graveyard and shared what had happened, they had both been confused as to why Voldemort had let him go. He was almost completely no worse for wear, excluding the cut on his arm from where Wormtail had gathered his blood for the ritual.

Perhaps  _ this _ was the reason why. 

The question was whether or not to give the letter to Harry.

Dumbledore had always regretted the way Tom had turned out and felt as though he was partially responsible for his behavior at times.  To be born unable to love… was that the truth or an inaccurate assumption? Voldemort could feel desire, evidently. Hatred, anger, jealousy, but still lust. 

His own blood was cursed from the moment he was born from Merope and Tom’s loveless union. Yet today, his blood boiled with the desire for his arch enemy. The same blood now fused with that very wizard's, protected by the love of his mother’s sacrifice.

Dumbledore wondered… What if his taking of Harry’s blood had something to do with it? He looked back down at the letter on his desk. Perhaps… those crude words were the only way Tom felt he could express himself. He had only ever experienced sexual desire up until that point-- if he were to have feelings for another, it may have been quite shocking. If Harry could help him come to terms with those feelings… teach the monster who embodied hatred how to love… they might all be saved. 

Although, not with Voldemort’s current tactics. Dumbledore knew Harry and knew the boy might prefer a more subtle touch. 

Fawkes squawked at his side. 

Dumbledore looked up at his phoenix familiar, eyes twinkling. He smiled knowingly and Fawkes trilled in reply. The headmaster picked up his quill and rolled out a fresh new page of parchment. 

* * *

Harry flushed as he read the unmarked letter he had received that morning. Hermione had cautioned him about opening letters with unknown origins but his curiosity won out. Now, it was piqued even further.

_ Dear Harry, _

_ It must come to no shock to you, but you have many admirers, I among them. I can only hope you will give me the time to tell you what I find so endearing about you: _

_ Your beautiful eyes, as green as emeralds, but far more priceless. In them glows life itself. _

_ Your devotion to quidditch, your skill, and your perseverance. The youngest seeker of our century, you practice tirelessly to help your house win. _

_ Your purity in the face of corruption, your resilience; sticking to your values even during difficult times is what I most adore about you. You stand fast and hold to your beliefs even when others slander you for it. I know you would never lie about such things. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. _

_ Yours,  _

_ CC _

Harry had received compliments before but this was just… a lot to take in at once. And CC… Could that mean...? 

He turned his head to glance over at the Ravenclaw table and there she sat in all her elegance: Cho Chang. 

Was there any other CC at Hogwarts that the letter could be from? He could hope it was from Cho but worried that his hope would be dashed. But what if it  _ wasn’t _ Cho? What would Harry  _ do _ if it wasn’t Cho? 

Nevertheless, the letter was sweet and whoever had written had obviously put a lot of thought into it. Maybe one day he could meet his secret admirer.

* * *

Voldemort had been caught in a meeting with his Death Eaters during Harry’s breakfast and was woe to know he could not see the boy’s first reaction to his letter. He smirked at that thought. Knowing he most likely read it in the middle of the Gryffindor table, perhaps sneaking a peek at the photo he so graciously left for him… it would instill a claim so that his peers knew he was to be involved with  _ someone _ .

When he entered the boy’s mind later that day, he felt lingering emotions of something he had never felt before while in Harry’s body. It was heady and warm and made him feel like there was a creature buried in his chest, squirming and thumping on the inside to be let out. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, but he took it as a sign of progress and pulled out of his horcrux’s head to begin writing his next letter.

* * *

Dolores Umbridge had just left his office when Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief and began to look through Harry’s mail once more.

The Inquisitorial Squad-- hmph. Next thing he knew, Umbridge would be trying to become Headmistress herself. 

Through the stack he went: a copy of the Quibbler (soon to be banned, if Umbridge had her way), a letter from his Godfather (Padfoot was doing quite well, thank you very much), a few hate mails (into the trash they went), and an unmarked envelope. 

_ That  _ drew his attention. He opened the envelope to reveal a letter and, to his disappointment, more lewd photographs. 

_ Very lewd. _

The letter’s contents were… well, just as lewd as the photos. Dumbledore grimaced. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ You liked that, didn’t you? I knew you would, I can read you like a book. What can I say, I am extremely experienced with anticipating my partner’s needs and desires before they even arise. You and I… we would be wonderful together. Our sex would make the world shake, make nuns cry, make the ministry tell tales of our filth, and make your professors hide in shame and the creatures of the Forbidden Forest flee in fear _ — _ I will leave you completely and utterly destroyed. But you, yes,  _ **_you_ ** _ will be begging for more, wishing it would never end. And of course, I being the merciful Lord I am, would oblige you. If anyone were to ever speak of you again, they would speak only of how depraved and thirsty for my cock you had become. The Boy Who Lived becoming the Boy Who Lived to be Fucked; it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? _

_ Yours, _

_ CC _

That would  _ not _ do. Dumbledore shook his head in exasperation. Tom, oh Tom. Why must he be this way? If the headmaster were to let Harry see this letter, he’d be afraid the boy would have a heart attack upon reading it. 

Dumbledore rose from his chair and walked over into his quarters. 

His room, filled with eclectic collections of all the things that were dear to him, that carried memories of his life, was neatly organized and he knew just where to look to find what he needed. Under his bed lied a small trunk of letters, filled to the brim. He pulled out a handful and skimmed over them.

_ Dear Gellert, _

_ If only I could speak to you now, in person, then this would be so much easier. However, I may not be able to tell you everything I wish I could, for the wretched enemy called fear and insecurity would arise like a Dark Lord gathers an army. Perhaps one day I can approach you with my feelings and, if you feel the same way, we can run away together, away from society’s restraints and expectations. I would love to see the world with you: see your opinion on the world’s cultures and civilizations, see your intellect shine as we would try our best to make it in on our own. We would need no one else but each other. _

_ Sometimes, I think our ministry is doomed. I cannot match your idealism, your will to fight even in the face of adversity. I worry you will get hurt. I have faith in your ability to defend and take care of yourself, but fear still lingers like the effects of any war. Worse yet, I sense a new war brewing on the horizon. I can only hope we will both make it out alive, my love. _

_ Faithfully yours, _

_ Albus _

He spelled away the mentions of his and his ex-lover’s name and substituted them for Harry and the pseudonym Lord Voldemort seemed to favor, ‘C.C.’ He placed the letter in a new envelope, leaving it unmarked.

* * *

 

“Harry?”

He looked up from his letter, a dazed expression on his face. His cheeks were flushed at the beautiful words he had been sent. 

Week after week, he had been sent letters and felt as though he was slowly falling for his mysterious secret admirer. Even if it turned out not to be Cho, he had developed feelings for whoever this was.

While the year had started out absolutely miserable— his reputation tarnished, the ministry out to get him, and Umbridge watching his every move— the letters had begun to make getting up every morning worth it. He knew, every week or so, a new letter would be awaiting him when the owls flew into the Great Hall every morning. When his hormones began acting up (as they were worryingly active as of late-- was it just puberty?), or his temper flared, he could go back and read C.C’s letters and cool down.

“Yeah, Ron?” asked Harry, eyes looking back down at the letter, rereading word after word. The noise of the Great Hall did not break his concentration.

Ron frowned and began awkwardly, “Aren’t you… worried at all that you don’t know who those letters are coming from?”

“I think it’s romantic,” said Ginny from down the table. 

“I don’t think they’re meant to hurt me at all,” agreed Harry. “They just seem so… genuine. I’ve never read something like this before in my life. I can’t imagine it being a lie.” With that thought, he brushed against the scars cut into his left hand self-consciously.

Ron sighed. “I know it’s just—”

“We don’t want you to get hurt, Harry,” interrupted Hermione. She bit her lip.

Harry smiled for what felt like the first time in months. “I won’t.” 

If not for himself, he wouldn’t get hurt for his secret admirer.

* * *

One did not want to be in the same room as the Dark Lord when he was angry, that much was certain.

He had sat down in a leather recliner at the Riddle house to watch Harry open his letter, yet his sight was filled with romantic filth instead. And where was  _ his  _ letter, his painstakingly captured photos that he knew the boy must have been eagerly waiting for?

And the letter was even signed the same name he was using. He wondered… did the sender know? Were they attempting to get in between the Dark Lord and his conquest? He  _ deserved _ that fine booty. Poor misguided Harry must have been so confused to receive such a frivolous letter from his beloved. An ass such as his demanded a thorough pounding, not romantic words and prancing about like a delicate flower.

He had already endured Harry’s… relationship with that Cho girl, including their first kiss. When he entered the boy’s mind, he found confusion mixed with slight excitement. His horcrux must have found the the contrast between the girl’s behavior and her supposedly seductive words in the letters quite… invigorating. What could he say? Not only was he the most powerful wizard in existence, but his silver tongue knew no bounds in the subtle art of seduction.

However, he would not entertain a rival preventing his luscious Harry from receiving his letters. Perhaps he needed to put protections in place to make sure no one but the letter’s chosen recipient could open it and see the lovely display inside.

If any of his followers soon as breathed too loudly within the same room as him, they would experience the strongest cruciatus known to wizarding kind, that of which was fuelled by the most overwhelming sensation he’s ever felt:  blue balls.

Soon, he thought. If all went according to plan,  _ soon _ .

* * *

Harry had tried to approach Cho over the months, but kept finding himself backing out of it.

If the letters were from Cho… He didn't know how he could deal with such a pretty girl being such a romantic. He’d simply burst. And it if wasn't her, then he didn't want to betray his secret admirer. While he had never sent a letter back, he felt as though their relationship had grown to a level where dating anyone else would feel like cheating.

The mystery itself was quite intriguing. Just the thought that he could be interacting with his admirer everyday without even knowing  made his heart pump in excitement.

At least he had something to look forward to besides the DA. Umbridge had finally gotten Dumbledore kicked out and declared herself Headmistress, making Hogwarts a living hell otherwise. He relished in the opportunity to teach his classmates, but the paranoia and secrecy of it all was getting to him. The thought of his admirer, a stable force in his otherwise chaotic school life, was able to bring him comfort in numerous ways. 

He felt Umbridge glaring at him from the staff table in the Great Hall as he took his seat at the dining table. He didn't have a care to give. It was Tuesday morning, which meant another letter would be delivered from his admirer into his eagerly awaiting hands.

As breakfast was served, excitement bubbled in his chest. He began tapping his foot and looked down at food with a faint smile. He’d decided to go sweet that morning with French toast topped with copious amounts of syrup and powdered sugar. Hermione gave him an odd look, but he simply ate and waited patiently for the owl post to come flying in.

His patience was rewarded duly, for the post flew in fifteen minutes later. Harry had cleared a space in front of him for the letter in order to read it without getting any food on it and attempt to preserve it in a state as close to its original as possible.

He put his copy of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ to the side (the _Quibbler_ had been banned and he sure as hell wasn't staying uninformed) and zoned in on the unmarked envelope in front of him.

Gently, he opened it. To his surprise, the envelope felt heavier than usual-- was something else inside? He looked in to see a few photographs at the bottom and blinked. Photos! He held a hand over his mouth and almost let out a girlish squee. Instead, he calmed himself and did what he felt the mature choice would be to do: read the no doubt heartfelt letter first, then open his presents. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ It appears one of my letters was intercepted. Why someone would deny you what you longingly need, what your very existence requires, I do not know, but I can assure you there will be consequences. One does not make a pass at what belongs to me and survive. _

One of the letters went missing? Harry was horrified at that thought and instantly thought of Umbridge—that bitch. She probably took one look at someone actually being on his side, someone actually being devoted to him, and decided to get rid of it. 

_ Don't you worry, my sweet boy, from now on you can have it in good faith that every letter I send you will reach its intended destination without being pilfered by jealous suitors. I know what you need and to deny you it would be a cruelty of which even I am not capable. _

_ Gorgeous boys like you deserve a cock down your throat one minute, in your pert ass the next. You’ll be so filled with my cum, so sore and thoroughly ruined, you will not want to ever move again.  And if I have it my way, I will be able to grant this wish soon, Harry. When all is said and done, I will own you and you will know nothing more of life than being fucked by your Lord. And I promise you, you will enjoy every single moment. I think you will even learn to enjoy my more…  _ **_violent_ ** _ tendencies. If not, I would be absolutely certain to re-educate you. _

_ I feel it is time we finally met, you and I. You would like that, wouldn't you? I will have accommodations be made for us at the Amor Deversorium during the next Hogsmeade weekend. It is down the street from the Three Broomsticks and the last door on your left down the alley. Meet me as the sun goes down in the sky. Get that image into your head—you are the sun, my sweet, and I the sky. I will eagerly await your arrival. _

_ Yours, _

_ CC _

What. The. Hell.

Harry had started flushing midway through the letter and felt like he was missing something. After reading the letter in its entirety, the room felt hot and Hermione and Ron, who were sitting beside him, made Harry feel as though everyone was closing in on him. His jumper felt itchy, his robes stifling heavy and hot.

He was also hard. 

He blinked up from the letter and tucked it close to his chest. If someone had been reading over his shoulder… 

Well, CC said that they were the jealous type, among other lewd statements.

How could such filthy words be written by the same hand that had written such romance and poetry?

Yet he was still intrigued. Perhaps more than was healthy. No one had ever been possessive over Harry before and it stirred an odd feeling in his chest. He felt wanted, desired, but not in the typical way that a fangirl would desire him. This felt deeper.

He had absolutely zero experience in sexual matters but he wondered if that truly mattered. His admirer seemed willing enough to teach him. And if just a letter, words written on parchment, could make him feel like  _ this,  _ he couldn't imagine what they might be able to do with their body _. _

Not _they_ , he corrected _, he._ Harry hadn't imagined it would be a male, but the thought simply added to his arousal the more he thought of it—the scandal, the absolute unpredictability of it.

He shifted in his seat, attempting to loosen up his trousers so his erection would not ache so badly. A seam moved it and he closed his eyes.  _ Not now— _

_ “ _ Harry?” came a voice to his right. “Are you okay? Was there something wrong in the letter?” 

Harry looked up to find Hermione staring concernedly at him.

He gritted his teeth. “Fine, absolutely fine.” At least, he would be after his nightly shower. “Hey, Hermione?”

“Yeah?” She cocked her head.

“Can you tell me what… Deversorium means? That’s Latin, right?”

“Oh, that’s hotel, I think,” said Hermione. “Or an inn.”

Harry blanched. “Thanks…”

* * *

Ignoring the invitation was never an option. The wait for the next Hogsmeade weekend, however, was absolute torture. Although, he looked into the envelope his letter came in later, while he was in his dorm room and Merlin—never had he ever seen a fully aroused cock that wasn’t his own before. It certainly didn’t make him any less anxious.

He vaguely wondered if it was normal for a relationship to escalate this quickly, but found that he didn’t care. His secret admirer had poured out his heart to Harry. Who would he be to reject them, when they were offering an intimacy that his neglected self so desperately craved?

The week passed slowly, but the weekend finally arrived, at last. He was still banned by Umbridge from going into Hogsmeade, but Harry took his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map and snuck through the passage into Honeydukes cellar. 

His feet crunched through the snow of the streets and he hoped no one would noticed the footprints that came out of thin air. He’d never noticed the alleyway next to the Three Broomsticks before and even though it was midday and the sun was shining bright and yellow in the sky, the alley seemed quite dark.

_ You’re fine _ , Harry thought.  _ He wouldn’t lead you anywhere dangerous, certainly.  _ In any case, he left the letter opened on his bed, excluding the rather intimate photographs. 

The door was a dark wood, stained a rosy red, with an ornate wrought iron handle. Across the wood were the two words of the establishment carved in an elaborate cursive. 

_ This was it. _

His hand shook as he eased the door open. There was no creaking, just silence. 

Inside, the room was candlelit and the soft sound of a piano played in the background, of which Harry couldn’t find the origin of. On one end of the room was a solid wooden desk, manned by a bored looking woman, and on the other end was a group of round tables and chairs that could seat pairs and—was that who he thought it was?

Cho Chang waved at him from across the room. He blinked rapidly, wide-eyed in confusion.

She rose from her seat and gestured to him, motioning for him to come sit.

Harry looked around the room, but besides the receptionist, there was no one else there. He pointed at himself and mouthed, ‘Me?’

The corners of her mouth downturned, and she pouted, then nodded.

Heart beating furiously against his chest, Harry walked over to where Cho stood. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him and brought him into a hug. While initially shocked, he awkwardly returned the gesture. Her hand stroked along his back and fell low on his hips. Harry was about to pull away when he felt his ass squeezed. 

Cho backed away, gave him a smirk, and took her seat. 

Harry blinked, dazed. After standing around awkwardly, he finally realised that yes, he should be sitting down too.

He cleared his throat. “It was you?” he asked in a low whisper, feeling as though the setting called for it.

She smiled and her brown eyes gleamed with  _ something _ Harry couldn’t discern. “Of course it was, who else would it have been?”

“I erm—” He scratched the back of his neck. “Had no idea, to be perfectly honest.” He tried laughing, but it came out sounding fake and awkward. 

This whole situation felt surreal and Harry was still super confused.

“Well,” she drawled out slowly, lids lowering, making Harry gulp. “I thought the anonymity would make things more interesting, especially upon our first meeting. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?”

He felt as if his answer would reveal far too much more than he was comfortable, so he stopped himself. This girl, with her gorgeous long hair and graceful curves and soft skin and sharp intellect, was interested in  _ him,  _ and had written all those lovely letters for him because she had feelings for  _ him _ . 

One thing wasn't adding up, however, but he felt his face flush at even the thought of asking her about… not only about the words written to him but the photos.

Suddenly, a man appeared next to their table with a clipboard and a, yet again, bored expression. His nametag read ‘Harry.’ Harry himself felt as though he was being judged and shifted in his seat. 

_ Stupid, _ he thought.  _ There was no way he could know. _

"Refreshments?" he asked.

Cho seemed to either ignore his awkwardness or be completely unaware of it. "Firewhiskey for two." 

Firewhiskey? He didn't dare say anything but gave Cho a worried look. 

She just smiled.

The waiter walked away into a room behind the receptionist's desk.

"So..." said Cho, reaching her delicate hand across the table. 

Harry knew it was an offer but hesitated. He looked down and wondered if her pale skin was as soft as it looked. 

"So..." he said nervously. 

That seemed to amuse her, and she let her eyelids fall heavy to give Harry a smoldering look.

"You have been enjoying my letters, yes?" 

Her speech came, surprisingly more refined than he last remembered it being, more self-assured. Although, he didn't exactly have much basis of comparison considering how much he had avoided her once he started receiving the letters.

He couldn't help but flush. "Erm, yeah. They were, uh, really nice, actually. I’ve never had anyone feel like that about me before."

She grinned wickedly. "Well, you're quite the attractive boy, Harry." 

She reached out to touch his shoulder and trace along his arm. 

He gulped. 

"Anyone with their sanity still left could see that. Although—" She paused. Her face grew a dark expression. "No one else can have you anymore. You may not see anyone else, am I clear? Only I am to enjoy you."

Merlin, what had he gotten himself into? Yet he couldn't dissuade himself from the idea just yet. This woman harbored these intense feelings for him, she cared for him and he was beginning to care for her. This relationship had become so intense, so quickly, he felt as though he were drowning in the emotions, yet didn't want to bring himself out of it. 

And the fact that she desired him that much... Well, that was a turn-on in and of itself.

"I won't see anyone else," said Harry quickly. "I don't think I want to— I mean, erm, like you said in your letter... I don't think anyone else could, uh—"

"Give you what you need?"

He coughed, blushing furiously. "Yes."

"Your drinks," came the voice of the waiter, almost making Harry jump in his seat. The man didn't seem to make any sort of sound as he moved. He set down two tall glasses of fizzing liquid and brought out his clipboard once more. "Your orders?"

Harry looked around for the menus which hadn't been moved from their original position in the silver holder against the wall. He found himself looking at Cho expectantly.

She only smiled softly, tilted her chin up high, and gave the waiter a side glance. "The Coq au Vin, to share."

He was simultaneously grateful he didn't speak any French so he couldn't understand what she had just said and terrified because  _ what did she just say _ ?!

The grumpy waiter left them alone once more. Cho stared into Harry's eyes, her gaze completely and utterly penetrating his—

Stop that, thought Harry. No penetrating—

"Harry?" she asked, amused. He felt as though she knew where his thoughts had turned.

"Erm, yes, I'm fine," he said quickly. "I just— I'm a bit confused about a lot of things. This is all very overwhelming."

Cho exhaled through her nose. "Well, you will never cease to be... overwhelmed in my presence, my dear Harry."

His face was on fire from his cheeks to his hairline. 

She ran a long nail across the thin skin of the top of his hand. It burned but stirred something within his gut. 

"I'm just..."

"You are confused as to why I feel this way for you, hmm?" she said, still tracing her nail across his hand. "Harry."

He hadn't realised he had been looking down but instantly felt as though he should have been looking back up at his admirer. His green eyes met her brown, and he thought he saw them almost flash red in what could only be desire. 

"I would say I want to become a part of you, but I'm afraid I already am." She smirked. "While my very soul lives inside of you, I find myself quite jealous of that little piece of myself I have given you."

Oh.

She gripped his hand tightly. Letting go of his hand, she scooted out of her chair, walked around the table, and sat unbearably close next to him. As she leaned over to look into his eyes, her black hair fell across the table and he had full view of her breasts in her low cut shirt.

Harry tried, and failed, to look away. 

"Can I ask you something, Cho?" he asked.

Her face soured for just a millisecond before returning back to her heavy-lidded gaze. "Of course."

"The uh... pictures you sent. And the words you said, about what you wanted to uh... do to me?"

She smirked and he felt himself shiver. "I can do things you wouldn't dream possible, Harry. Those pictures were meant for your eyes only and I promise you, I will deliver what you so desperately need." Her hand fell on his thigh. 

All the blood in his body instantly rushed south out of sheer anticipation.

The sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted them. 

Cho's head whipped around, and some of her hair flipped into Harry's face as she glared at the waiter. 

He didn't seem to give a fuck. "Your orders," he said gruffly, setting down a dish that looked like chicken in a strangely red looking broth, the plate lined with mushrooms. He walked away without any further conversation. Harry decided he would have too if he had been in the waiter’s situation.

Harry picked up his glass of firewhiskey, swishing the cloudy amber liquid in the glass hesitantly. He eyed the strange liquid on the dish and decided it looked too thin to be blood. "What is this exactly?" He tilted his head and took a small sip.

"Literally? Cock with wine." Cho raised an eyebrow.

If he had taken a larger drink of his glass, Harry knew he would have sprayed it across the white tablecloth of the table.

"C-c—" he sputtered and looked back down at the dish. "You mean chicken?"

"Of course." She tilted her head in a way Harry would have previously called innocent, but now knew better. "Although, I don't need an inn with pathetic help that don't know their place to serve you Coq au Vin."

Her words came off as aggressive and Harry felt himself stiffen in his seat.

She picked up a fork and knife, cut a piece of the chicken and held it out for Harry. "Open wide," she ordered playfully.

He blinked before leaning over and taking it in his mouth. Very moist, he thought, as the flavor exploded across his tongue. A bit salty.

"Does it taste good?" She leaned over close to him.

He swallowed and felt the heat fall down his throat. He nodded.

She smirked and continued to feed him, bite by bite, taking a few for herself every once in awhile.

Harry's head buzzed a bit and his whole body felt overly warm. Once they were done with the dish, they pushed it to the end of the table.

He cleared his throat and started speaking once more. "You know what I'm thinking, now that we're done with dinner and all, Cho?"

She leaned in closer, eyes positively ravenous. Her brown eyes blurred a bit, looking more scarlet than her previous chocolate, but he could only blame the dim lighting.

"Dessert!"

Cho frowned. A sigh escaped her lips and she leaned back into her seat once more. Her fingers tapped on the table and while Harry sat there looking puzzled and debauched, she waited.

A few seconds later, without a single sound, their ever enthusiastic waiter appeared once more. "Dessert?" came his tired voice.

"I think I'd like some cake," said Harry.

"Of what variety?" At this point, the man sounded like he was in pain.

Cho simply adjusted her shirt and placed her hand on Harry’s leg once more.

“You got death by chocolate?”

“You’ll be the death of  _ me _ , Harry—” she muttered and squeezed his leg.

The waiter gritted his teeth. “We do. Just a moment.” He was gone in a flash. Less than a minute later, he returned with Harry’s slice of cake. He didn’t say a word.

Harry stabbed his fork into the cake and began shovelling it into his mouth. Dark eyes watched his every move.

“Rilly gud—” he said between bites, “—rilly sweet.”

“I am absolutely certain you would taste even sweeter, my dear Harry.”

He ignored her, diving into his cake. His enthusiasm must have made him lose some of his cake, because when the fork entered his mouth, all he could taste was cold metal.

Cho tutted. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Look what you’ve done,” she said, giving him a knowing look. “You have made a mess of yourself. Such a dirty boy-- let me clean you right up.”

Her hand moved and placed itself right over the crotch of his trousers. His eyes widened. When he looked down, she could see she had brushed away some crumbs, but was now pressing her hand directly against his clothed dick. 

He dropped his fork on his plate with a clang. 

The pressure was initially light and teasing, fingers tracing against the outline of his member from the outside. His face heated, his body clenched and he thought if he listened hard enough, he would be able to hear his heart’s rampant beating inside his chest. Her featherlight touches drew away from where he wanted them most to the inside of his thighs. He closed his eyes  and, suddenly, he thought he could feel a hot breath into his ear.

The hand moved directly to his erection once more, shocking him into opening his eyes. She rubbed him through his trousers and he was so hard, _ it hurt _ — 

The pressure she applied increased and it felt as though he was almost being squeezed through his pants. 

He let out a whine and heard a surprisingly husky chuckle in response. The hand disappeared from his crotch only to reappear and push up his shirt slightly. It traced along his stomach and grazed down to where fabric met skin. She slid her hand into his boxers and for a moment her smooth hand met the throbbing warmth of his cock—

At that moment, Harry heard the heavy wooden door of the inn open and slam shut. He jolted up and looked towards the source of the noise only to be blinded by light. 

“Obliviate!”

* * *

 

Dumbledore had made a mistake—unquestionably, absolutely—a complete and utter  _ mistake _ . He thought they were getting along so well, despite Tom’s lewd comments. It could have  been worked around. 

What he wasn't expecting was for Harry to  _ give in. _

The headmaster could only imagine what would have happened if _he_ had given in all those years ago.

He thought Tom would be different, that he could learn to love, to give and not just  _ take _ for once in his life.

Dumbledore had been terribly wrong. He should have known; perhaps, it was a simple fact that all dark lords shared similar traits. There was one thing he knew for certain, after the events that had just transpired that afternoon

Lord Voldemort was a fuckboy, through and through.

All he could do now was pick up the pieces shattered by his naivety and idealism and attempt to glue them back together.

* * *

 

He had been  _ this _ close— _ this _ close to claiming what was his,  _ this _ close to finally getting that stupidly sexy Gryffindor ass in his bed. Yet once again, his plans crumbled before him, due to one completely insufferable person. 

He couldn't understand why he had been so blind before—his letters not being delivered to Harry, Harry’s shyness—that old fool was interfering and sending the boy,  _ his boy _ , his own love letters. 

It was pathetic.

Why would a young, eager boy such as Harry want to be fucked by a man that could have been his great grandfather? Now Harry and Voldemort’s age gap was  _ far _ more respectable. Plus, everyone knew that teenagers nowadays preferred bad boys. What could he say? The Dark Lord was the very definition of desire. But it was no matter.

The Dark Lord would not tolerate opposing suitors. The only option was to eliminate the opposition— once and for all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to fatcatsarecats for beta-ing.  
> Feel free to check out my other fic, The Emerald Connection (it's not crack at all, haha.)  
> My tumblr's @thelastnero. If you send me a request, I may or may not write it.


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